Unscripted
by mademoiselleblair
Summary: Quinn has no one else to turn to except for Mr. Schue. What will happen?
1. Frozen

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. **

**A/N: This is set some time in the near future. (January or February.) Enjoy!**

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I hadn't expected life to turn out this way. Shivering on the steps of my high school at midnight on a Saturday was never part of my plan. But neither was any of this – sleeping with Puck, getting pregnant at sixteen, having to choose between my boyfriend and my baby's father – none of this was planned. Nevertheless, I was here now. I couldn't manage staying at Finn's house for another second, so I had simply walked out.

Everything about that house was suffocating: the sad, tired way Mrs. Hudson looked at me when she thought I wouldn't notice; the painfully awkward silence that draped over the room whenever the subject of the baby came up; the rush of embarrassment whenever the Hudsons paid for my meals or maternity clothes. It was all too much. I hated depending on Finn for basic necessities like a hot meal and a bed. I hated dragging him – still a virgin – through this mess into fatherhood, paying for a mistake he never made. Whenever I thought about it, my throat constricted and pressure built up behind my eyes. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I packed a few clothes into a duffle bag and left.

At first, I just wanted to walk. The streets were dimly lit with flickering lights, just bright enough to make out street signs through the darkness. I wandered for close to an hour. I might have been walking in circles, but I was too bitter to care – I was going to be stuck in Lima forever, I might as well start now. Eventually, I recognized the looming shape of McKinley High School in front of me. Grateful to see a familiar sight, I immediately sat down on the front steps. I was alone, with nowhere to go.

It's starting to snow now. Thin white flakes drift downwards from the gloomy sky. I shiver in the thin letter jacket Finn gave me. It's the only coat big enough to fit across my stomach and I'm in no position to refuse, even if I do have to roll the sleeves up twice. I pull my duffel bag under the overhang of the school's roof and sit on it, trying to keep warm. Obviously, I can't sit here forever. If I sleep in the snow, I could literally freeze to death. The baby could die. Can fetuses get frostbite? I don't want to find out.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and begin scrolling through my contacts. Brittany was the first one in my phonebook. She was a Cheerio – I couldn't call her. Daddy was my next contact. I paused, my finger thumb hovering over the call button. _No_, I told myself sternly. _He kicked me out. I don't need his help_. Finn was next, and there was no way I could call him after sneaking out of his house in the middle of the night. I continued scrolling through the list of names, names of my so-called "friends." Puck... Rachel... Santana... Rachel was probably getting her regimented ten hours of beauty sleep or practicing facial expressions in front of a mirror or imagining herself as Maria in _West Side Story_. I don't even want to think about what Puck and Santana are up to. There's only one more name in my contacts – Schue. Mr. Schue had given us his cell phone number before Sectionals so we could call him in case of an emergency.

"Call me whenever you need help," he had said.

Homeless, pregnant, nowhere to go – I think this counts as an emergency. I wouldn't normally consider calling Mr. Schue for help, especially at this hour, but I had nobody else to turn to. Without giving myself a chance to lose my nerve, I wiped away a single tear and pressed the call button.

The phone rang six times, each trill drilling fear into my stomach. What if he didn't pick up? My heart thumped, beating against where Finn's name was embroidered in white script on his jacket. On the sixth ring, the sound tripped and Mr. Schue's voice pounded into my ear.

"Hello?" he answered groggily.

I took a deep breath, elbows propped on my knees. Frozen.

"Hello?" he repeated, a note of annoyance lingering in his voice. "Anyone there?"

This was my chance. My only chance.

"Mr. Schue, it's Quinn," I said softly.

There was a short pause.

"Quinn Fabray," I clarified. "From Glee."

"Quinn, it's past midnight. What's wrong?" he asked, his voice rising in alarm.

"I... I think I need a ride," I ventured.

I didn't have a plan. There's no script for this, the way there is in Glee. In Glee, everything is written out nicely and everyone has a copy of the script – everyone is on the same page. Life isn't like that. We're all reading from different scripts and all the melodies clash.

"A ride," he repeated. "Are you okay?"

I hesitate. "No. I'm not okay. I'm not staying with Finn anymore. I can't go home, either. I just need somewhere to stay until I figure this all out," I admit.

Mr. Schue is silent on the other end of the phone. It occurs to me that I just asked to stay with him. If he thinks I'm acting out of line, he doesn't mention it.

"Where are you?" he asks. "I'm coming to get you right now."

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated. :)**


	2. Crossing the Line

The ride from McKinley to Mr. Schue's apartment is quiet. The snow falls thickly over the road and he drives slowly. There are no other cars on the road; the only light comes from our own headlights and the dim street lights overhead. I stare glumly out the window, tracking single snowflakes as they slid down the glass.

"I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to call me," he begins, "but what is this all about?"

"Do you remember when Glee Club sang ballads?" I ask.

"Yeah," he nods. "You and Finn were partners."

"Finn sang his ballad to me one night when I invited him to have dinner with me and my parents. He chose 'You're Having My Baby.'" I paused, letting the words sink in.

"That's how your parents found out? Finn sang it to them at dinner?" Will asks incredulously, obviously flustered.

I nod. "Yeah, he did. And then..." I could feel a lump rising in my throat. I couldn't cry. Not now. "My dad kicked me out. He gave me thirty minutes to pack. I haven't seen him since. Finn lets me stay in his guest room."

Silence fills the car.

"Quinn, I didn't realize everything you were going through," Will says, voice hollow. "I didn't realize --"

"You couldn't have known," I say shortly, cutting him off. "We didn't tell anyone. I just couldn't stay with Finn anymore. I hated relying on him for everything – meals, a bed, rides to school..." I rub my temples in small circles, trying to massage away my headache.

"And this is just the beginning. There are doctor appointments, ultrasounds, and hospital fees for when I deliver to pay for, a nursery, baby food, and diapers to pay for, then eventually daycare and college tuition. We'll need a place to live. There will be heating bills and health insurance and car payments. It won't ever end. Ever. And throughout the whole thing – for the next eighteen years of my life – it will be all with _Finn_," I say, hissing the name through my teeth.

Mr. Schue is silent. I don't blame him. In his shoes – driving his pregnant student to his apartment while she angsts about her supposed boyfriend – I would be a little scared, too.

"I'm sorry," I say suddenly, breaking the silence. "This is inappropriate. I'm out of line. I just didn't have anyone else to turn to."

"No, don't worry about it. I understand, you know. Not having anyone to turn to. You're going through more at sixteen than most people go through in their entire lives."

"Everyone has their own personal problems. Mine are just a little more visible than most," I say, placing a hand on top of my stomach.

Mr. Schue bites his lip. The car has stopped moving. We're parked outside a familiar three-story brick apartment building. "C'mon in," he says, gesturing to the building. "We're here."

He reaches into the back seat, slings my duffel bag over his shoulder, and gets out of the car. I open my door and get out, too. I follow him up the front steps of the building and up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Mr. Schue pulls a brass key from his coat pocket and unlocks the front door. He pushes it open and lets me walk in.

"It's not much," he says, running a hand through his hair.

I glance around. It's subtly different since I had been here with Terri. The wedding photo in the front hall had been turned down. Spanish tests sit stacked on the kitchen table. Dishes are piled up in the sink. Terri was gone. That much was clear.

"It's perfect," I say.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting any visitors," he excuses, clearing off space on the kitchen table. "Take a seat."

I sit down. I hate situations like this, where there aren't any clear guidelines of what should happen next. Will takes the seat across from me.

"Do you need a place to stay tonight?" he asks gently.

I avoid making eye contact. Hanging out with Mr. Schue at Glee Club after school is one thing. Running away from Finn to sleep in Mr. Schue's apartment is entirely different. It's crossing the line. I look up and meet his eyes.

"Yeah, I do." My words hang in the air. "But I understand if that's too much for me to ask of you. I know it's crossing the line."

Mr. Schue doesn't answer me at first. He leans back in his chair, considering my words. I can't tell what he's thinking. I silently count the seconds as they pass. Five... ten...

Then finally, "My wife left me. I could use a hand around here."

I'm nervous, grateful, queasy. Overwhelmed. "Thank you, Mr. Schue. I really appreciate it."

He stands up. "Call me Will," he says with a smile.

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**A/N: I'm so excited for Quill! Let me know what you think. Reviews are always appreciated!**


	3. Sunday Morning

I wake up to blinding sunlight reflecting off the newly fallen snow through the window. My heart skips a beat when I realize I'm not in Finn's guest room anymore. It takes another beat for my brain to catch up: I'm in Mr. Schue's apartment. I slept in a _teacher's_ apartment. The thought sends chills chasing down my arms, so I grab Finn's letter jacket and zip it up over my nightgown.

Before Terri had left, she had transformed the apartment's second bedroom into a nursery, so I had to sleep on Mr. Schue's pull-out couch in the living room. I didn't mind – truthfully, I was too tired to care where I slept. The moment Mr. Schue had left the room last night, a soft "good-night" falling from his lips as he padded into his bedroom, I had crashed, too tired to even brush my teeth. Now that I was well-rested, I was curious to see the nursery. After all, had Terri gone through with her plans, my daughter would have grown up in the nursery.

There were three doors leading away from the living room. Mr. Schue had gone to bed through the door on the right. The middle door was left open, clearly revealing a cramped bathroom. The door on the left was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and went into the nursery. It was beautiful. Sunlight shone through the window, illuminating the pale pink walls and the plush white carpet. A crib fitted with pink polka dotted sheets stood against one wall. A mobile hung over the crib; as I turned the mobile round with my finger, "Brahm's Lullaby" chimed softly. The room looked as if it had been torn out of a Pottery Barn catalog; if Terri had anything to do with decorating it, it probably was. It was darling, precious, beautiful.

Overwhelmed, I slide down the wall and lean my head against the side of the crib. A few trickling tears quickly develop into thick, racking sobs. I would never be able to afford any of this for my daughter. I didn't know it was possible to love someone the size of a grapefruit with your entire being, but I did. I want to shower my daughter with lavish gifts and take her on vacation to tropical resorts. I want to buy beautiful party dresses for her and decorate her room with furniture designed in Europe. It won't happen. Terri Schuester could give my daughter more than I ever will be able to. The more I wrap my mind around that thought, the more I want to vanish. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my knees up against my stomach, willing this whole situation to go away. I wish and pray for this mess to disappear, but when I open my eyes again, I'm still slumped against the wall in the beautiful nursery Terri Schuester had created for my daughter.

I'm not alone anymore. Mr. Schue is leaning against the wall with me. He has his arm wrapped around my shoulders, awkwardly patting my arm.

"It's okay, it's okay," he says in a voice that he probably means to be soothing.

_This_ – a perfect nursery I could never afford, sobbing next to Mr. Schue, his arm across my shoulders – is not okay. Nothing about this is okay. For the millionth time since I moved in with Finn, I desperately wish I could be Daddy's little girl again and crawl into one of his hugs.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" he asks, still patting my arm.

"The – the nursery," I manage, in between heaving sobs.

"You don't like it?" he asks, looking crestfallen.

I shake my head. "That's not the problem – Terri did a beautiful job," I say weakly.

Mr. Schue recoils slightly at the mention of Terri's name. "I don't understand," he says.

"All this – I'll never be able to afford this. I can afford a secondhand crib from a garage sale, not the deluxe model from Pottery Barn. I won't be able to give my daughter the same life a stable, married couple would be able to give her." The words are jagged and I'm afraid if I say any more, they will rip into my throat like shards of glass.

What happens next feels so natural I hardly notice it. I rest my head on Mr. Schue's chest and let the tears flow freely. He strokes my hair and doesn't say a word, just keeps stroking my hair as if he's not my teacher and I'm not a pregnant sixteen-year-old. I'm not sure how long we stay like this – minutes? hours? I'm not sure. When the tears dry and my body stops quivering, he untwines his finger from my hair and stands up. I try to stand up, but I'm lightheaded from hunger and nausea. With my left hand, I hold the wall for support as I stand. Mr. Schue takes my right hand and helps steady me. It's then that I remember his request from last night. _"Call me Will_."

"Thank you, Will," I say. My voice is steady and strong; I've regained my balance.

"It's been a hard few days, huh?"

"Yeah," I admit.

"Why don't you get dressed? I'll make breakfast. I'm not the world's best chef, but I think I can manage pancakes without burning down the house," he offers.

"Pancakes sound delicious," I say.

He smiles at me and turns to leave the nursery. I follow him out of the room to get my duffel bag. I pull out a fresh pair of clothes and head into the bathroom to change. I unzip Finn's letter jacket as Will's voice drifts into the bathroom. He's singing show tunes, his voice bright and clear and strong. I drop Finn's jacket to the floor. I don't need it – or _him_ – anymore.

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**A/N: I think you know where I'm headed with this fic. :) Quill is one of my favorite couples and there are so few couple-centric fics about them. How do you think I'm doing so far? Reviews are always appreciated!**


	4. All of You

**A/N: This is a long chapter, but I didn't want to cut it into two sections. I won't be able to post everyday anymore - I'm working on another Glee fic ("Sex Miseducation" - check it out!) and I'm going to alternate days updating. I don't want to abandon either fic, so this way, I'll be able to write both of them at the same time. Updates are just going to be a little slower.**

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Since Sunday morning, Finn has texted me a total of forty-seven times. His latest says _quinn, i'm really worried. call me when you get this. _Like the forty-six before it, I delete this one, too and toss it back into my school bag.

"Finn?" Will asks.

"I can't deal with him right now,"

"Don't you think you should at least let him know where you were?"

"I texted him yesterday and told him that Santana invited me to her house for a Cheerio slumber party."

Will nods. "Quinn, you're going through a tough time right now. I understand that you don't have many people you can turn to right now, and frankly, I'm flattered that you felt comfortable enough to call me. But..." he hesitates, biting his lip. "Let's keep this weekend between the two of us."

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Will," I say as he gets out of the car.

His body is halfway out of the car when he freezes. He ducks back into the car and turns to face me. "That's another thing. It's okay to call me Will at home, but here, I'm Mr. Schuester."

I flush at his reprimand. I honestly hadn't meant to call him Will. It just slipped out – it felt natural.

"Wait – Will. Mr. Schue. I just wanted to say..." I trail off, my eyes searching his for the right words. "I just wanted to say thank you. For this weekend."

He smiles and puts a hand on my knee. "Any time, Quinn. If things don't work out with Finn today, let me know. I don't think it would be a problem if you stayed with me for a few more days."

I lean a little closer, inhaling his cologne. He smells of leather and spice. It's a warm, alluring scent. "I really appreciate it, Will. I don't know what I would do without you."

He leans in, too. His hand is still on my knee. When he kisses me, his lips press slowly into mine. It is a long, sweet kiss, the kind that's deep and tender at the same time. I don't pull away. His kiss makes my heart spin and buzz against my ribcage and sends electric jolts from my lips to my toes. The kiss is thrilling, intoxicating. Will breaks away first, his eyes wide, shocked at his own audacity. He bows his head and rubs his jaw.

"I need to go," he mutters quickly. He shoves the door open and leaves without a backwards glance.

I want to pull him back into the car and kiss him back this time, but he's already hurrying towards the school. I watch as he heads towards the back entrance of the school, the door closest to his classroom. Half-dazed, I get out of the car and sling my bag over my shoulder. My lips still tingle. I can still feel his hand, warm and strong, on my knee. As I walk in through the front doors and head to my locker, my mind is still spinning. Will's kiss isn't anything like Puck's kiss - rough, confident - or like Finn's kisses – fumbling sloppy. Will's kiss was different; when he kissed me, I wanted nothing more than to kiss back.

Finn interrupts my reverie. "We need to talk," he says firmly.

"What?" I snap, annoyed at his intrusion into my thoughts of Will.

"Let me see if I have this straight. You're telling me you snuck out of my house in the middle of the night to go to a Cheerio slumber party without even telling me?" Finn asks, voice rising dangerously.

"Last minute plans," I say coolly.

"Since when are you even friends with the Cheerios anymore? Coach Sylvester kicked you off the team months ago."

"Santana invited me."

"It was snowing out. Santana lives four miles away. You didn't walk four miles in the snow, did

you?" A look of dawning horror spreads across his face. "Is the baby okay?"

"The baby is absolutely fine. And, no. I didn't walk. Santana picked me up."

"You left on Saturday night. What were you doing all day yesterday? You could have come back." Finn is grasping at straws now.

"I went shopping with Kurt. Is the interrogation over now?" I ask bitingly.

My words hang in the air. Every crack in my story is filled; Finn has nothing left to protest. I've won this round. Our scene is over, there's nothing else scripted for us. Nothing left to say. As the bell rings for first period, the silence hardens between us.

"Here," I offer stonily, pulling his letter jacket out of my bag and dropping it into his hands. "Good bye, Finn."

He gapes, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as I stalk past him towards my first period class. I'm not sure if Finn and I just broke up, although I'm pretty sure that running away from your boyfriend's house in the middle of the night to sleep at a teacher's house, and then lying about it constitutes as a fairly major breach in a relationship. Not to mention the fact that I _kissed _Will. Even Finn, lusting after doe-eyed Rachel Berry, has managed to keep his hands off of her. There's no excuse for what I did, what Will and I did together.

And yet, for the rest of the day, I couldn't stop thinking about Will. I replayed the scene over and over in my mind – first his hand on my knee, soft and warm; then his lips pressed against mine; the rush of exhilaration that danced through me. It was sweet and tender, forbidden and clandestine. After so many months of feeling empty and bitter, Will made me feel alive. More than anything, I want to kiss him back.

After school, I met Will at his car. "Can I have a ride?" I ask.

"Yeah, c'mon in," he says.

I open the car door and sit down inside. Will is sitting in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel, but the car is turned off. His mouth is opens and closes slightly, as if he's trying to say something.

"Are you okay?"

He hesitates. "To be honest, I'm not okay. What happened this morning was unprofessional and inappropriate. I crossed the line, Quinn. You're a student. "

"I didn't mind," I say boldly.

He puts the key into the ignition and starts the car. We sit in silence as it rumbles to life.

"How old are you?" he asks.

"Sixteen."

"Jesus," he mutters. "I'm old enough to be your father."

"You can't be that old," I protest.

"I'm thirty-two, Quinn. We're sixteen years apart – same difference as you and your baby."

"My father is fifty-one," I manage. "Besides, how many thirty-two-year-olds do you know who have teenagers?"

"Finn will," he says simply.

"That's different," I say defensively.

"Is it? Is it really? I don't think so." Something stirs within him; his eyes glint in the winter sun. "Did you know that Terri and I met when we were sophomores? We were high school sweethearts."

"Really?"

"When we were sixteen, she told me she was pregnant. It was the single most terrifying experience of my life."

"What happened to the baby?"

"False alarm. She wasn't actually pregnant." He laughs bitterly. "Old habits die hard. Ironic, isn't it?"

I manage a nervous laugh, unsure of where he was going with the story.

"Just think – if Terri was actually pregnant, the baby would be your age by now. Sixteen. Don't you see, Quinn? Sixteen years is a big gap between us. I really am old enough to be your father. Think about all the things you're going to do in the next sixteen years – you'll graduate, go to college, get married, maybe you'll have a few kids." He glances at my stomach, adding, "I mean, a few more kids."

"I get where you're going with this," I say.

"Shoot."

"You're discouraging me. Pushing me away," I say quietly.

By now, we're in Will's driveway.

"It's not quite like that, Quinn," he says, getting out of the car.

I get out, too, and we start up the stairs towards Will's apartment. When we reach the top, he unlocks the door and we walk inside. I drop my bag in the front hallway.

"Then what's it like?" I demand.

"I crossed the line. I know what I did was wrong, but I don't _feel_ like it's wrong," he admits.

"Then don't fight it," I say, stepping closer to him. We're ten inches apart. Something ignites inside of me. I kiss him on the lips, but he breaks away.

"I want you. _All_ of you," I say, running my hands down his chest to make him understand. This time when I kiss him, he doesn't pull away.

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**A/N: I'm a hungry writer. I eat reviews. Feed me!**


	5. More

_"I want you. _All_ of you," I say, running my hands down his chest to make him understand. This time when I kiss him, he doesn't pull away._

Instead, he's pulling me in closer. Tighter. He's everywhere – his lips against mine, his hands tangled in my hair, his body warm against mine. Overwhelmed by opportunity, I let him kiss me and steer me into the bedroom. His back knocks against the door as he fumbles for the knob and I wait for the door to open, leaning into his body eagerly. His eyes shine down at me.

Once inside, I unzip my dress and let it fall to the floor, the white material pooling around my feet. He unbuttons his shirt between kisses. His chest is narrow but strong. He's built like Finn, though I can't think of that now. We both reach for his belt buckle, but I get there first. I stand close as I undo his belt buckle and zipper; no longer constricted, he burgeons against my stomach. He tugs off his boxers while I step out of my panties and unhook my bra. Suddenly, we're naked together, sinners, like Adam and Eve.

At any point, either one of us could stop, step away, realize that what we're doing is wrong. Yet neither of us stop because it _doesn't _feel wrong – it feels so, so right. I toss away the morals I had been raised with and pull Will's face towards mine, lips meeting lips. He leads me towards the bed – the bed where he and Terri had made love just like this, the bed where he had once believed his child to have bloomed from. I push the thought of Terri out of my mind by leaning deeper into the kiss, feeling electricity buzz from my lips to the vulnerable flesh between my legs.

Will's on top of me, hips hovering over mine, face flushed. He doesn't ask if I'm ready, but the hesitation in his eyes says enough. I'm sick of people treating me like glass.

"I want this," I breathe, fingers spread wide across his chest. It strikes me for the first time how true it is. I'm not just saying it because I had one too many wine coolers and I feel fat – I'm saying it because I want him more than anything. I want to feel him inside me, rough and unsteady, more alive than I've been in months.

He nods and slips inside. At first, I gasp. I'm more than tight around Will, and I suppose that's how life is always going to be – satisfying with just a hint of pain. He moves over my body effortlessly and unthinkingly, touching me everywhere, kissing me everywhere, _being _everywhere, all at once. The rhythm of Will's breathing connects with mine at the same tempo and we move together as one. He hitches my thigh over his hip and sways forward for a rough kiss. I can't even count the places where we connect, skin meeting bare skin. His eyes fill with fire and passion, alight in the darkness. As the friction increases, as his body moves faster and sharper across mine, he jerks and shudders to a stop, bowing his head in relief. I buck, my muscles clenching around him, nails digging into his skin. The entire experience is surreal – with Puck, I was merely a receptacle; nothing more than a body for him to hammer his lust into. With Will, we shared; giving and taking, teaching and learning, moving.

He rolls next to me, stroking my hair.

"Hey," I whisper with a smile.

"Hey." He doesn't blush, but I do.

I snuggle into his chest, savoring this moment. Feet tangled, matching smiles, skin warm.

"I wasn't too rough, was I? I wasn't thinking, but you're so young, and I could've hurt you, and --"

I cut him off. "You were perfect. You – you..." I struggle to find the right words. "The way you looked at me, it was like I was more than just a body, an object."

"Finn seems like he would know better than to treat you like that," he says with surprise, tracing the line of my collarbone with his finger.

"Not Finn," I say quietly. "We never did any of this," I say with a wave of my hand, gesturing to the bed.

"Then who?" Will asks. I bite my lip and look away. "Oh..." he says, as the pieces click together. "Puck?"

I nod. "Just once. I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Can I touch?" he asks, suddenly shy. "Terri never let me."

It seems silly to me that he would have to ask to touch my stomach after what just happened, but I nod and place his hand on my stomach. Will stares, marveling at the round, firm bump. He moves his hand across the tight skin. He looks sad, wistful. It occurs to me that this is the experience he never got to have.

"Puck is definitely the father?" he asks.

"He's the biological father, if that's what you're asking. I'm raising her alone." I try to sound strong, brave, but I don't.

Instead of responding, he laces his fingers with mine and gives me a small kiss. Our breathing slows to a light tide of air as our lids grow heavy. We fall asleep this way, hand in hand. When I dream, I dream of him.

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**A/N: I had a lot of trouble with this chapter - I hope it's not too clichéd or stiff. Review & let me know what you think!**


	6. Stand Up

**A/N: Sorry this took awhile to write! I've been crazy busy lately, but I still wanted to get this up. I had fun writing this chapter - angry Will is always fun for me to write. :) Enjoy this chapter!**

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I linger in the hallway after Glee, waiting for Will to drive us home. Puck and Finn are the only students left in the classroom, gathering their things to head to football practice. I can hear Finn tease Puck about his latest conquests.

"Dude, she was, like, forty. My _mom_ is forty."

"Hey, she might be mature, but let me tell you – she is _well preserved_. You'd tap her, too, if you had seen her ass."

I peek inside the classroom, where Puck is miming grabbing a woman's behind. Will is gathering up papers to grade to put in his briefcase.

"Oh God, she was good," Puck moans. "They only get better with age," he says to Finn, winking.

"Maybe, but don't you think it's creepy? I mean, sleeping with women old enough to be your mother?" Finn asks, looking uncomfortable.

"Nah. They're lonely and bored because their husbands don't love them. I'm just offering my services," Puck reasons. "Besides, just look at them. Look at them! They're stacked and run around in bikinis and tiny shorts. With bodies like that, why wouldn't you sleep with them?"

"Puck, knock it off," Will says sharply. "We don't need to hear the details of what you do after school."

"During school, too," Puck grins.

"You can't objectify women like that."

"Oh, so you're telling me you chose Terri because of her honesty and charming personality, not because she has great breasts?"

"That's not funny," Will says, gritting his teeth.

"I'm a stud," Puck says bluntly. Glorifying the female form is what I do best. Just making a point, Mr. Schue." Puck leaps up from his chair and takes a few swaggering steps towards Will.

"Glorifying?" Will gives a short, angry laugh. "Puck, you're making these women feel like they're only appreciated for their bodies."

"So what? I wouldn't allow a hot chick to be deprived of my sexual prowess. Dude, chill out."

Will is dangerously close to Puck now. He can't be fighting this fight for me. Finn is lingering a few steps behind Puck, eyes darting to mine.

"Don't you get it? Don't you get how you're making these girls feel?"

"If the nail marks on my back are any indication, I'd say pretty good," Puck says with a smirk.

"Puck... back off." Finn says.

Puck narrows his eyes and rubs his fist, but walks away from Will without a word. He doesn't look at me as he blows through the door.

"C'mon, man. We're gonna be late for football," Finn says, catching up to Puck.

Will leans back against his desk and rubs his temples. I walk into the room, hesitating before I place a hand on his chest and rest my head on his shoulder.

"We're in school, Quinn," he says, gently sliding my hand off him.

"You didn't have to stand up to Puck for me," I say.

"I did. I couldn't stand listening to him talk about his conquests like that and know that you're one of them."

I look down at my stomach. It's at least a six-inch barrier between Will and I, if not more. Somewhere in there, Puck's DNA is swimming around.

I look up at Will. His eyes trace the curve of my stomach with longing.

"I hated how Finn was so bent on the age difference between Puck and those women," Will says quietly.

"It's different," I protest. "We're different. Puck is just using those women. He doesn't care about them the way I care about you." Maybe I'm being too bold, but I don't care. I just know that whatever Puck has with those women is far, far inferior to what I have with Will. This is the first time a relationship has lit sparks in my stomach and made me want to sing it to the world.

In just a few days, so much had changed. My mind could barely keep up with the realization that I had broken up with Finn and that I was living – and sleeping with – Will. It didn't make sense. I'm Quinn Fabray, not some tacky counterpart to a male version of Mary Kay Letourneau. And yet... I _like_ being with Will.

"I don't want this to end," I whisper.

"Then it won't," Will says with a smile.

He draws me in for a kiss. His hands spread across my back, gliding underneath the fabric of my sweater. His hips rub against mine and I surprise myself at how badly I want to lay across the desk and have him, right here and now. The school is dark and empty, so I do.

* * *

**A/N: Please review? :)**


	7. Need

**A/N: It's been way too long since I last updated, but I had this scene in my head and had to write it! I think I'm going to pick up this fic again, so stay tuned for updates. In terms of the storyline of this fic coinciding with what's happening on TV, disregard what you see on TV. In this fic, Finn still thinks he's the biological father and Will/Emma isn't happening. This is my fic, I get to make the rules! **

If the clandestine nature of our relationship wasn't alluring enough, we reveled in the sense of newness. Everything about Will was fresh, unexplored, tantalizing. He had only ever been with Terri; I had only been with Puck once. This relationship – the entire concept of exploring another person – was uncharted terrain for both of us. It's been over a month since the snowy night I ran away from Finn, and the thrill hasn't yet worn off.

School has quickly become my least favorite part of the day. Geometry proofs and medieval Europe seem trivial in comparison to what I'm dealing with: impending motherhood, slipping into debt, lust, love. (Love? I'm not sure I want to believe I was in love. I can't afford to delude myself, or so I tell myself.) I have no patience for analyzing the message behind _The Scarlet Letter_, nor did I even remotely care about the periodic table. The only class that holds any real interest to me now is Spanish.

Of course, it's not the subject that interests me. Vocabulary is easy enough, and I don't mind learning the grammar. The real appeal of the class, however, is the thrill of catching Will's eye, sharing a secret glance. When he pauses mid-sentence, visibily flustered, and loosens his tie ever so slightly, I revel in the moment, knowing I'm responsible. Since I was kicked off the Cheerios, I lost my power. My word used to be _law _at McKinley. I could snap my fingers and get any guy I wanted. I mattered. I've lost all of that. But with Will, it's different. I'm different. He makes me feel empowered. I feel like me again.

Of course, nobody knows. Nobody else hears how softly and sweetly he says my name. Nobody feels the hot, airy tremblings in the pit of my stomach as his fingers graze mine for just a split-second longer than necessary when handing back paper. It's just our secret, something onlywe share.

Which is why my heart briefly stops when Santana asks me if I thought Mr. Schue was hot.

"He kinda looks like a younger version of George Clooney," she whispers during Spanish. "Hot, right?"

I flick my ponytail over my shoulder and try to act naturally. "I hadn't really thought about it," I lie. "I mean, I guess he's kind of cute."

"He's not really my type," Santana muses, scrutinizing Will's ass as he turns to write on the board.

"Your type? You have a type?" I ask. I didn't need to voice the implication – that Santana had slept with half the guys in the school, regardless of _type –_ but my message was clear.

"He's more of your type, actually," Santana continues, unfazed by the meaning behind my words. "You know, thin, dark hair, lame... Not that Finn is awful, but you could have at least given your spawn better DNA than whatever idiot genes Finn passed along." We both glance over at Finn, who is currently fast asleep on his desk and softly snoring. "Okay, point proven." Santana says, pulling out a nail file and beginning to work on her manicure. "You better hope the baby gets your nose, by the way."

I barely have a chance to respond before the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. While everyone else scrambles out of the room, I stay back.

"Mr. Schue, I've been having trouble with this verb tense. I think I might benefit from..." I drop the innocent voice and doe eyes and saunter forward, closing the space between us. "... private lessons?"

Will begins to light up, but he stops himself. I can practically see the restraint in his eyes, reining himself in tightly. He lifts my hands from his chest and places them gently on top of my stomach. He is unable to look me in the eyes when he says my name.

"Quinn," he says softly.

I don't like his demeanor. It scares me. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand. "Yeah?"

He sighs. "I don't know if we can make this work."

The power I felt with him was zapped. My throat constricts, but I don't want to let him see. I pull my hands out from under his and step away.

"What do you mean?" I ask blankly. He can't mean... can he?

"This isn't easy for me to say," he grimaces. He hesitates, catches his lower lip between his teeth. "I don't know if I'm the right person for you right now," he says weakly.

"Is it the responsibility of the baby you're afraid of?" My voice sounds far too accusing to my own ears, but I can't help myself. "You're just like the others, running just when I need --"

"It's not the responsibility, it's --"

"Then it's the sex," I shoot back.

"No, not at all! Quinn, keep it down,what if people hear?" he pleads.

"You're not comfortable with the age difference?" The accusations pile up one after another, until I see how many holes our relationship (if it even ever was a relationship) truly has.

He collapses into his chair and leans forward, forearms propped on his knees. "The age difference doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would. You are mature beyond your years, Quinn. You're dealing with problems some adults never face in their entire lives. You're brave, and I admire you for that."

I sit quietly and wipe away the one tear that had brimmed up and trailed down my cheek.

"And if you think I'm complaining about the sex, you're wrong." His serious demeanor broke for just a moment as he chuckled and said, "No man in his right mind would ever complain about _that_."

If this was any other day, I might have laughed. Today, I couldn't. Another tear escaped, and I hastily wiped it away.

"I'm hesitant only because I don't know where I see the two of us year down the road. Where are we going to be next month? next year? next decade? I don't know if I'm the right one for you. I'm not your baby's father. That role belongs to Puck, or Finn, or whoever you choose to tell the world is the father, and I can't fill those shoes. I'm sorry, Quinn. I'm sorry."

By now, I can't hide my tears; they trickle down my cheeks and make my insides feel runny. "My little girl doesn't need a daddy," I tell Will. "Puck isn't father material; he would only hurt our family. I'm not asking you to be her father. I'm asking for you to stay for me – not because of the baby, not because I need a place to live – but because _I _need you."

Will is silent.

"Please, Will. Please," I plead.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews, suggestions, predictions, and comments are always welcome. :)**


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